


lay yourself bare

by Potrix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Body Image, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Child Abuse, Secret Identity, Secrets, Self Confidence Issues, Shyness, Spoilery Tags - Freeform, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: “This is unbearable,” Jaskier says pitifully, squirming around on the cool grass next to Geralt. “Melitele’s tits, Geralt, what have we done to deserve this heat?”Geralt squints over at him, blinking against the brightly shining sun. Jaskier’s sprawled out on his front, feet bare and the legs of his trousers pushed up as far as they’ll go, pouting face glistening with sweat. His shift is clinging to his back and shoulders, sticking to his narrow waist, and Geralt quickly averts his gaze, looking back up at the cloud-free sky.“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, again, and pokes at Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, do something.”From the way Jaskier flails and splutters when Geralt picks him up to drop him in the nearby stream, that isn’t what he’d had in mind.Or; five times Jaskier manages to keep (on) his clothes, if not his dignity, plus the one time he lays himself bare.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 95
Kudos: 1420





	lay yourself bare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/gifts).



> Why is Jaskier never naked, unlike everyone else in the show? Good question! Thank you [dls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls) for asking it. Here's the answer.

**1**

Geralt watches warily as Jaskier flits about the room, gathering things and chattering all the while, before he returns to where Geralt is sitting stiffly in the tub. He opens a vial of something brightly coloured, sniffs at it, then wrinkles his nose and sets it aside, uncorking another one. This one seems to pass whatever test it's been put through, since Jaskier makes a triumphant sound in the back of his throat, and pours most of it into the water by Geralt’s feet. 

When Jaskier’s back is turned, Geralt takes a surreptitious sniff, surprised at the mild, herbal scent that’s beginning to rise with the hot steam. Most bath salts and oils are near overpowering to his enhanced senses, but this one is unobtrusive. If he were to be generous, Geralt might even call it pleasant. 

It’s enough, together with the heat surrounding him, to ease some of the tension out of Geralt’s aching muscles. He allows himself to sink a little deeper into the water, resting his head against the edge of the tub, and letting his eyes flutter half-shut. 

Jaskier is still talking, though it seems to be mostly to himself, since he doesn’t appear to be bothered by Geralt’s lack of responses. He puts the oils away again, then vanishes into the main room for a moment, coming back with a stool he sets down behind Geralt, and plops down onto while cracking his knuckles. 

It automatically makes Geralt brace himself, although against what he isn’t sure. It’s instinct, to be aware of his surroundings, to always know what’s going on at his back, where he can’t see. But when he cranes his neck to glance up at him, Jaskier is smiling brightly and pushing back the sleeves of his chemise. 

“Now,” Jaskier says as he reaches out, running unexpectedly gentle fingers through Geralt’s dirty hair, “let’s see if we can salvage this, shall we?” 

Geralt will never admit it, not to anyone but himself, but having Jaskier’s clever hands working on untangling his hair, rubbing more of the herb oil into it and scratching softly at his scalp, feels nice. So much so that by the time Jaskier deems Geralt’s hair, “As good as it’s going to get, I suppose,” Geralt is loose and close to dozing off. 

Jaskier goes as far as carefully patting Geralt’s hair dry, apparently not trusting Geralt to do it himself without tangling it all up again. Geralt has to keep himself from leaning into the soft touches. 

He slips into bed, not bothering with fresh clothes, and lazily watches Jaskier unlace his boots, humming to himself under his breath. His chemise is soaked, but he doesn’t seem to mind or care. 

When he catches Geralt looking, he smiles, questioning but soft. 

Geralt closes his eyes, feeling warm. 

**2**

“This is unbearable,” Jaskier says pitifully, squirming around on the cool grass next to Geralt. “Melitele’s tits, Geralt, what have we done to deserve this heat?” 

Geralt squints over at him, blinking against the brightly shining sun. Jaskier’s sprawled out on his front, feet bare and the legs of his trousers pushed up as far as they’ll go, pouting face glistening with sweat. His shift is clinging to his back and shoulders, sticking to his narrow waist, and Geralt quickly averts his gaze, looking back up at the cloud-free sky.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, again, and pokes at Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, do something.” 

From the way Jaskier flails and splutters when Geralt picks him up to drop him in the nearby stream, that isn’t what he’d had in mind. 

**3**

“If you’d stayed where I told you to stay,” Geralt interrupts Jaskier’s rant, trying to undo the buckles of his armour with blood-slick fingers, “you wouldn’t be covered in ghoul guts right now.” 

The silence that follows is pointedly offended. It’s not something Geralt would have thought possible before meeting Jaskier, but Jaskier lives to prove him wrong, Geralt’s fairly sure. 

As usual, the quiet doesn’t last very long. “Well, excuse me, Geralt,” Jaskier sniffs, going for haughty, though the effect is somewhat ruined when he nearly slips and falls while pulling off his stocking, “for practically saving your life.” 

Geralt doesn’t roll his eyes, though the urge is strong. “Hmm, yes. You were waving that stick around very elegantly, I’ll admit.”

“Oh, oh!” Jaskier exclaims, hands on his hips as he scowls at Geralt. “Now you decide to develop a sense of humor. Unbelievable. And rude. Unbelievable rude, Geralt!” 

Geralt grins at him, all teeth. “My apologies.” 

Jaskier keeps glaring for a moment longer, then tosses his head with a huff. It reminds Geralt of Roach when she's in a snit.

“Turn around, at least,” Jaskier grumbles, flapping a hand at him. When Geralt doesn't move, he tsks, and waves his finger in a circle. “Some privacy, please?”

All he's still wearing is his chemise. Geralt levels a pointed look at Jaskier's cock, which he didn't seem to mind being out in the open for this entire, ridiculous conversation, then looks back up at Jaskier with his eyebrows raised. 

Jaskier merely taps his foot impatiently. 

Geralt sighs and turns, but not without rolling his eyes, this time. 

**4**

Blood is dripping from Jaskier's nose by the time Geralt drags him away from the scuffle, coating his teeth and chin, and making him look almost feral combined with the wild fury in his eyes. He's fighting against Geralt's hold, despite knowing how fruitless it is, still hurling insults even as he's practically carried out of the tavern. 

“Didn't like your singing?” Geralt asks, amused, once Jaskier is walking by himself again, albeit reluctantly, and muttering angrily under his breath. 

Jaskier kicks at a pebble, then at another before he answers. “Didn't like my choice of companion, more like.” 

Something warm unfurls in Geralt's chest at that, a little thing he can't identify but knows belongs to Jaskier alone. He doesn't know how to put it in words, though, so instead, he gently bumps their shoulders together, hoping it conveys what he's unable to say. 

Jaskier flops down on the bed as soon as they get back to their room, sighing heavily, and closes his eyes. Geralt kneels to tug off his boots and trousers, then straightens again to help him out of his doublet. 

With that done, Jaskier slithers under the sheets, pulling them snug around himself. 

He reeks of ale, his hair and the collar of his chemise wet with it, and the coppery scent of blood clings to him, but Geralt can't find it in himself to mind. He undresses quietly, aware of Jaskier's gaze on him, before he perches on the edge of the bed, and meets Jaskier's eyes.

When Jaskier wiggles one arm free to hold out a hand, Geralt takes it without hesitation.

**5**

Jaskier is magnificent, a vision of pale skin and damp curls as he rises above Geralt, then lowers himself down onto Geralt's cock again, kiss-swollen lips parting on a throaty moan. Geralt's fingers flex on his hips, and Jaskier's mouth curves into a filthy, devilish little smirk as he redoubles his efforts to take Geralt apart completely. 

Geralt plants his feet on the bed more firmly, not one to be outdone, and thrusts up hard the next time Jaskier moves down, making Jaskier groan loud enough that the unfortunate soul in the room next to theirs starts banging on the wall. Jaskier giggles at that, face flushed and eyes twinkling mischievously, and Geralt surges up to taste that joy, kisses it right out of his mouth. 

“Darling,” Jaskier breathes against Geralt's lips, hands twisting into Geralt's hair. “Geralt, darling, please.” 

Humming, eyes heavy, Geralt slides his hands up Jaskier's sides, settling them over his ribs, under his shift. Jaskier's breath hitches, and his fingers twitch as he squirms, still smelling of lust and pleasure, but now undercut with a note of nervousness. 

Geralt buries his face in his neck, breathing him in, and moves his hands to Jaskier's backside, squeezing appreciatively. Jaskier's scent turns sharp with a new wave of arousal, overpowering the uncertainty. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs hoarsely, and seeks his mouth again, relieved to feel Jaskier smile into the kiss. 

**+1**

“In my defense,” Lambert says, Jaskier's arm slung over his shoulders as they help him up the stairs to the sickroom, “I didn't know it was possible to be this fucking clumsy.”

Jaskier makes a noise of protest, and tries to turn enough to glower at him, then hisses sharply when the movement tears at the cut in his back. 

Geralt narrows his eyes at Lambert dangerously. 

Lambert merely rolls his own eyes in response. “He'll be fine, Geralt, calm down. I only stabbed him a little.” 

Vesemir is waiting in the sickroom, and Eskel, probably attracted by their arguing, peeks into the room a moment later. “Who broke the bard?” 

“Oh, sure,” Jaskier mutters as they lower him to sit on the bed, “invite everyone we know to come and witness my shame, why don't you.” 

Eskel smiles pleasantly. “Coën's down in the kitchen with Aubry, won't be any trouble to go fetch them.”

Jaskier laughs as he grunts out, “Go fuck yourself.” 

“Geralt,” Vesemir interrupts, before Jaskier and Eskel can start squabbling like Geralt knows they want to, hand lightly touching Jaskier's shoulder, “help him out of this.” 

“Ah,” Jaskier says, catching Geralt's wrist when Geralt reaches for him. His mouth twists unhappily, and he won't look at Geralt, eyes fixed on the floor between them. “I'd rather you didn't.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt begins, though he cuts himself off when he smells it, the one thing he's never had aimed at himself before; fear. It coats the back of his throat, ugly and sticky, and Geralt has to swallow around it before he can say, quietly, in an attempt to be reassuring, “The wound needs to be stitched up, Jaskier.” 

Geralt isn't the most emotionally astute person, he knows, but he isn't oblivious, either. Jaskier never bares himself completely, not even if it's only the two of them in private. He wears his chemises, his shifts, his undershirts like they're armour, a layer of safety between him and the world. Geralt doesn't understand, and there is some curiosity, but he has indulged Jaskier until now. 

It has always seemed unimportant, this one small thing, compared to all the pain and heartbreak they've been through, together and because of each other. 

Jaskier blows out a shuddering breath, rubbing at his eyes. “I know. I know, just—”

He glances up at Geralt, hesitant and unsure, then looks at the others gathered in the room before he grabs Geralt's hand, linking their fingers together. “I love you. Remember that, all right? I love you.” 

Geralt is stunned, for a moment, by hearing it, out loud, for the first time. But then he shakes himself out of it, and rushes to help Jaskier, who's struggling to shrug out of his chemise. 

Standing behind him, Vesemir is the first to see whatever it is Jaskier's kept so well-hidden all these years. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, though he carries it off well and quickly. He guides Jaskier to lie down on his front with sure hands, helping him adjust until he's more or less comfortable before he goes to grab needle and thread. 

If he'd thought about it in more than passing, Geralt's sure he would have come up with an array of reasons for Jaskier's shyness, for his reluctance to be undressed around others, though this? It never would have crossed his mind, not in his wildest dreams. 

From the top of Jaskier's spine all the way down to his tailbone, the first small as a coin while the last spans the width of a hand, are gnarly, raised, perfectly round scars. Geralt doubts a regular human would recognise them for what they are, though, as a Witcher, he certainly does. 

A brief look over his shoulder, at Lambert's open mouth and Eskel's raised brows, tell him his brothers do, as well. 

Jaskier whimpers at the first puncture of the needle, the sound small and vulnerable, but enough to spur Geralt back into action. He crouches next to the bed, and puts a hand on the back of Jaskier's neck, leaning in to kiss his forehead and whisper, “Ssh, you'll be all right. Everything's going to be all right.” 

In almost eerie unison, Eskel and Lambert step forward, the former putting a hand on Jaskier's calf while the latter sits on the bed by Jaskier's hip, each offering silent comfort. 

“It would have been scandalous,” Jaskier mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, and squeezes his eyes shut, though a few tears still manage to escape, “for anyone to know the Viscount's son was a monster.” 

Geralt growls before he can stop himself. “Jaskier—”

“Never mind that it was him who muddled the oh so pure bloodline by sticking his old, rotting cock where he shouldn't have.” 

Lambert chokes on a laugh, then swears when Eskel slaps the back of his head. 

“At least it wasn't gills,” Jaskier jokes, although it falls flat, his voice wobbly and croaky. “Would've been harder to cut those off a small babe.” 

It's Vesemir who inquires, with a casualness Geralt knows better than to trust, “He still around, your father?” 

Jaskier laughs wetly. “Maybe don't start a war with Lettenhove over the Viscount's bastard son.” 

“Shame,” Lambert sighs, and Eskel hums his agreement, eyes blazing as he suggests, “What about a feud, though?”

Geralt tunes out their half-hearted plotting, instead nudging Jaskier's chin to make him look up. When he does, Geralt smiles, brushing a thumb over Jaskier's cheek to wipe away some of the tears.

“What you said before, the thing you asked me to remember,” he whispers, and waits for Jaskier to nod his understanding. “I know. And I hope you do, as well.” 

Jaskier kisses him, then, hard and desperate, and Geralt gives back as good as he gets. 

Lambert coos. 

And promptly gets slapped again.

**Author's Note:**

> What, exactly, is Jaskier, I hear you ask? Who knows! Go wild.
> 
> There is also [a rebloggable version](https://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/post/616397777174511616/lay-yourself-bare) of this on tumblr.
> 
> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


End file.
